


One Small Step. One Giant Leap.

by HYPERFocused



Category: Northern Exposure
Genre: Anticipation, Aural Kink, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, F/M, Flying, Introspection, Pegging, Public Blow Jobs, Radio, Sexual Fantasy, Strap-Ons, Voice Kink, on the air
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:21:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HYPERFocused/pseuds/HYPERFocused
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A safe landing home is just the start of the journey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Small Step. One Giant Leap.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spuffyduds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/gifts).



**1\. Gross. Point Blank.**

Landing back in Cicely after coming back from seeing Mike Monroe, ( putting his legal skills to use in Greenland for Greenpeace, and thankfully doing well, as well as doing good) Maggie couldn't help thinking about what it meant to be home again, how coming home now meant someone was waiting for her. Not someone new to her, exactly, but someone long familiar she somehow now saw in a new light. Being with Chris wasn't what she had expected. At least, he wasn't what she had been _expected_ to expect. But then, neither had Fleischman been, really. As an up and coming physician, Joel was as close to her mother's ill mannered, but we'll meant, Grosse Pointe ideal as a potential husband for their (disgraced/ displaced ) debutante daughter. And, not to put too gross a point on it, If his last name been Fitzgerald or.even Fine, rather than something so obviously Jewish as Fleischman, Joel would have been perfect.

Now, Chris. Chris was something different. Something different entirely. Her parents wouldn't have approved of him for her. His redneck background (not a term she'd ever use for him) his less than illustrious past. He loved cars, maybe he and her dad could bond over that (as long as Chris kept the story of how he once professed that love to himself.

Chris loved, whatever it was at the moment, or that month, or year, whole-heatedly. Maggie loved that about him. She always had, even before she realized she flat out loved him. Was, in point of fact, _in love_ with him. How it had taken her close to a decade to figure it out was beyond her. At least she could take comfort in knowing Chris had been equally slow in his realization.

It wasn't that there hadn't been fleeting flashes of attraction between them all along, it had been well-proven that Chris attracted pretty much everyone with a pulse. It's just that none of them seemed to stay, which was why he tended to avoid dalliances with Cicely residents who were close to him. He dallied, all right, he just made a point never to commit beyond, say, the next big snowfall, or past the Spring thaw. That last part was easy enough to understand, even in the still frigid temperatures of Cicely's annual Running of the Bulls, Chris naked was quite an arresting sight. In the fire-lit warmth of her cabin, Maggie imagined, he would be even more enticing. So far, it was just speculation based on the evidence of how well he kissed, and how amazing he smelled and felt pressed up against her when they danced.

In her mind, though, she pictured more. Pictured things she never had imagined with anyone else. Not Rick, who'd been pretty vanilla, all in all. Certainly not Fleischman, who, open minded as he claimed to be, had balked when she suggested putting one of his ties to good use. As a blindfold; she knew he wouldn't be thrilled about being restrained. He was too constrained already, for that.

"Sorry, but I need to see what I'm doing."

"Right, Fleischman, you're a physician, and you're telling me you can't feel your way in the dark?"

"Of course I can. I'm just not entirely convinced I can trust you not to pull something funny." She had been kind of offended at that. Maybe she shouldn't have been, because they were just coming out of the wrong end of their love/hate thing, or "fuck _you._ No, _fuck_ me." side of what they both hesitated to call a relationship.

Chris, she was sure, would be different. He would probably say "Sure, why not" to anything she could come up with. Chris was such a risk taker, that was part of what she loved about him, his willingness to try pretty much anything, just for the experience. The joy of it. Whatever new thing it was, even if it might give others pause, Chris always seemed to get away with it. 

Some might say they had this in common, as if his fleeing, his flings, his flights of fancy, matched in spirit, her hours in the sky. Maggie didn't think that was it. That wasn't what made them mesh so well. It was true, there was a certain kind of freedom in flying, but it was tempered by the rigid, regimented rules, of science, and law, that governed her in her work. It was competence that connected them, made them equally at home. Maggie _in_ the air, and Chris _on_ it.

Chris on the air was exactly how her fantasy had started. He had that voice. Maggie didn't fool herself that she was the only woman, or man, for that matter, who entertained certain -- entertaining -- thoughts while listening to his rough, honeyed words as he read. It was hard not to. 

It was Chris reading from Anais Nin that made Maggie's thoughts race downward, her hands following. She wondered how hard it would be to distract him. He could be so focused when he was doing something he loved. But what if she was there, in the studio with him. What if she was touching herself, following his words. Would that make him pause in his recitation? Or better yet, what if she just sank to her knees in front of him, mouthed the front of his jeans, until the outline of his cock was clear. Would he gasp? Bite back a moan? If she told him to keep talking, could he do so, even as she was swallowing him down?

Would she ever actually do that? Surely not at KBHR, which was all window, where anyone and everyone could come in. But then again, you never knew with Chris. He had this way of convincing you that whatever crazy idea he had for you and him to do was yours alone.

Living life open to new experiences, but avoiding truly unnecessary, potentially dangerous risks, was her adopted philosophy. Experiences kept things interesting, while experience helped to keep everyone safe. Most people safe. Her piloting scores were unimpeachable, but Maggie hadn't had such a good track record when it came to boyfriends and their safety. Ex-boyfriends, anyway. She wondered whether Chris would avoid that fate through his usual Huck Finn luck, or because this time they would both be lucky in love, and he would never become an ex-anything (well, except for 'ex-con').

* * *

**2\. The Moon is a Harsh Mistress**

Tranquility Base. That's what Maurice, ever the ex-astronaut, had named his vacation spread. NASA based room titles aside, Chris really liked the sound of that. They could all use some peace of mind, a little more room to unwind. Not that space was a big issue for him, he was perfectly happy, well, maybe not, but at least Chris could honestly say he had no major complaints about his trailer. But getting away, being able to spread one's wings, so to speak, was a gift not to be taken for granted.

Speaking of Tranquility Base, the real one, and especially, spreading one's wings, being with Maggie, Chris imagined, felt something like stepping onto the surface of the moon, or maybe looking back at the Earth from the vastness of outer space. Something you've seen every day of your life, and think you know like the back of your hand. Chris pondered that phrase. He didn't know if he would be able to pick his hand out of a hand lineup, should there be such a thing. Maybe for people suspected of having sticky fingers? The old "five finger discount"? He didn't think most people could.

No, what he meant was the way you could see a thing forever, know it was beautiful, but not really think about how miraculous truly natural beauty could be. The silvery pale image of the moon against the starlit sky was an astounding sight, at least when one bothered to really look. But even Chris, who prided himself on his ability to find the beauty in everything, wasn't exempt from becoming inured to the seemingly familiar. 

Take Maggie. He had always known Maggie was a striking beauty, but she was so close, so much a part of Cicely's everyday life, that it took looking from a whole new perspective for him to be truly conscious of it once more.

Sometimes he dreamt about her. Even before the idea of being intimate with her was anything more than an idle fantasy, his subconscious mind brought images of a different Maggie. A Mary Margaret O'Connell, in full corporate dress, and then out of it. A Mary Margaret -- not at all a Maggie -- taking him to task, showing him she was in charge. Letting him, no, making him feel it as she fucked him, the strap-on making them both a little crazy.

The thought of it was making him a little crazy. Fun and games, and shenanigans at Maurice's aside. Chris could not wait until Maggie's arrival home.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted this to have more action, and less introspection, but Chris and Maggie disagreed. Hardly a surprise with Chris, he's all about the thinky-thoughts, but O'Connell usually _gets things done_


End file.
